Drakeîn to see clearly
by Major Strife
Summary: Following his exile as Agent afloat Tony DiNozzo settles on a strange way of dealing with his homesickness. Even stranger is what happened when he returns to DC, welcome to Hinkyville, population 1.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Drakeîn; to see clearly  
**Series: **Hc Svnt Dracones  
**Fandom: **NCIS (original series)  
**Rating: **PG 12/14 - few minor swear words in this part.  
**Character(s): **Anthony DiNozzo  
**Disclaimer: **Not mine, don't own them, never happened, never going to.

**AN: **Will form part of a series with various crossovers but can stand alone. The first story in the series, it actually falls chronologically towards the end of the middle of the arc. Contains a small hint to one of the crossovers in a blink and you'll miss it kind of way.

* * *

**Part one  
**

The feeling of restlessness after weeks cooped up on board what amounted to a floating city; admittedly one without a much of a (legal) nightlife and limited legitimate entertainment facilities, did not really come as much of a surprise to (Very Special) Agent Afloat Anthony 'Tony' DiNozzo. It was not like he had never spent time aboard a ship before; pretty difficult really given his line of work, however the odd hours and occasional day/over-night stay here and there simply could not have prepared him for the mind-numbing tedium of being tied to one rather tiny cabin, cum office, day in and day out for weeks on end.

Considering its sheer size he had actually seen less of his floating home/prison than one would expect for the kinetic agent. Sticking mainly to his office during official 'Office Hours', his quarters, the mess, gym, Captain's office and the labyrinth of interconnecting gangways comprised the extent of his territorial wanderings. This was partially due to the status afforded to the role he now occupied. Even the thickest skinned Agent was at least partially aware that whilst their job was viewed as fundamental for the continued smooth running of life aboard ship, the job title i.e. The FED, or Nark, overshadowed the person filling the position and as such went down about as well as an Undertaker trolling for business at a Wedding, when it came down to socialising among the enlisted personnel.

Tony tried to stay in touch with his ex-team mates, however replies to e-mails started to become fewer and farther between; there was only so many ways to avoid saying how much you hated your life in general and how you really, REALLY did not want to be here! Brutally and effectively cut off from his friends and support network, and home comforts (i.e. home cinema system and extensive DVD collection), Leon Vance had known exactly what he was doing when he had exiled one Tony DiNozzo.

Although 'technically' a promotion, with corresponding hazard and unsociable hours pay bonuses, like there was anywhere Tony could spend his unwelcome gains in the middle of the ocean! Tony was fully aware that his posting was meant as punishment for the part he had played in Director Sheppard's hidden agenda and subsequently politically damaging death with accompanying official cover up; like he hadn't been punishing himself enough already over the whole torrid affair whilst fighting the fallout of a shattered heart too.

Realistically, somewhere deep down in the pits of his subconscious Tony knew that the 'out of sight out of mind' posting had the potential to take some of the rising pressure off his career. Internal Affairs had surely started to get sick of him by now. Two false accusations of murder and one dead Federal Agency Director were reason enough to haul butt the heck out of Dodge for a while, before his badge started to tarnish. He'd seen it happen before; throw enough mud at the cleanest of agents or police officer and eventually some it would stick no matter how clean and by the book they really were.

Just because Vance had seen fit to inadvertently cut him a break, before one might add he burnt out and completely lost the plot, did not mean he had to like the tooth pick crewing prick. Was it any wonder that on his first land fall since shipping out on the USS 'My boat's bigger than yours!' Tony quickly found himself a hotel, complete with the three B's - a Bar, Beer, and Babes.

Whilst technically off duty Tony was still mentally restricted from figuratively letting his hair down and cutting completely loose by a 24/7 'on call' status and so limited himself to a single shot of whiskey and one alcohol free beer which he nursed for over an hour accompanied by a spot of mild flirting with the native bar staff, just to keep his hand in.

Being stuck away in a traditionally institutionally homophobic testosterone fuelled environment did little to restore his hibernating libido; which had been flagging more than a little since the whole Jeanne debacle. Even flirting with the barmaids seemed more effort than it was worth, so when the night-life started to pick up Tony found himself unusually turned off by the sight of bodies writhing on the dance floor to a thumping electronic bass line.

Beer bottle well and truly empty he wasn't surprised to find it gone and his table already re-occupied upon his return from the men's room. Taking it as a sign to cut his losses for the night Tony decided to head back, alone, to his hotel room and its wonderful civilian sized bed, with its soft sheets and blankets and of so soft mattress which had not chance of rocking or swaying beneath him.

Always keeping an eye out for potential trouble, Tony left the bar in good order, if not spirits, and made his way through the port's peaceful streets intending on making good the remainder of his evening with a spot of good old fashioned bed appreciation. However, before he had made it more than half way to his intended destination something caught his attention from the corner of his eye.

Turning to investigate he ignored the garish neon sign of a drug store and concentrated on the view through the plate glass window of the shop next door. Unconsciously studying the framed flash sheets covering its white tiled walls he was struck by an ache in his chest, one of deep rooted home sickness as the varied designs and styles reminded him painfully of a certain Gothic lady.

He stood frozen for several minutes alone in his memories before his mind was able to break free and set his body in motion, not back to his soulless hotel room as he had intended by through the heavy shop door and into the brightly lit studio.

The realisation what he was about to do caused Tony to balk for all of a second, just long enough for his stomach to clench tight before being over-ridden by bravado, or maybe it was sheer stupidity, he never was later able to say for certain which.

A few quiet words with the artist in residence and several rough sketches later; Tony was privately amazed how easily it was to subvert drawing skills developed for painstakingly recording crime scenes, as he found himself calmly stripping his shirt off to lay face down, whilst his back was shaved clean.

The clean sharp smell of the disinfecting agent and the snap of latex gloves preceded the waspish machine buzz. The sharp stinging of sterile needles entering his skin initially burnt through his pain receptors, zinging in response to adrenaline heightened senses, but in short order the noise and pain/pleasure melded into a hypnotic numbness that pervaded both his mind and body.

At what point pain turned into a perverse sort of pleasure it was impossible to say; enhanced by the careful hands holding his skin taunt and the regular firm but gentle swipes of disinfectant soaked cloth, combined with the basic human need for physical contact, i.e.. simply to touch and to be touched; something he had not had the pleasure of since his exile and abrupt departure from DC.

Sitting inverse, astride the ancient looking barber's chair, his head resting against his arms where they draped over the back, Tony smiled ruefully to himself as he felt an unmistakable tightening in his groin as his body responded to the unusual stimulation.

Feeling oddly relaxed despite the weird circumstances, Tony was content to remain still, enjoying the slow burn of his semi hard penis where it lay against his stomach, trapped between his body and the soft denim of his perfectly broken in jeans, the zipper's metal teeth cool in comparison; their heat leeched into the cold leather of the chair back.

A sudden cessation of all sound from the compressor seemed shockingly loud in a twisted kind of way, rousing Tony from his peaceful state. Taking several long seconds just to breathe deeply before awkwardly turning against the sting of damaged flesh, he checked his back where if reflected in a mirror which the artist kindly held up for just that purpose.

Happy with the result of nearly two hours work, Tony handed over his cell phone to the red-headed young man, its built in camera utilised to capture a quick picture of his back, in all its glorious wounded and bloodied state before he was bandaged up and sent on his way with a tube of topical cream and a list of strict care instructions for his purchase.

That night in his lonely hotel bed, Tony dreamt turbulent dreams, of hot leathery wings wrapping him in a warm embrace and a great roaring filling his soul..


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: **This chapters a bit graphic hence the change of rating just to be safe.  
Wow, I have story watch alerts - I've never had those before. Thanks for those and review. I plan to try and update later in the week, but  
my 2 year old has a habit of interupting the best laid plans.

**Part 2**

One after another, repetitive, Military regulated days slowly turned into weeks and months, culminating in unwelcome reminders of Tony's first term at Rhode Island military academy. Awkward off duty interactions with the enlisted men continued to send the lonely Agent Afloat in search of some intangible source of emotional surcease. His sanity's salvation found in various studios and hole in the wall parlours hidden down back alleyways and side streets at each port the USS Ronald Regan called at.

Tony's dreams, when he was able to sleep that is, were woven with fire and darkness, threaded with great dark wings carrying him in flight, increasing in clarity with each session as slowly more and more of the skin covering his back was transformed into a living work of art.

His newly developed habit followed him along with his meagre personal belongings from the Regan to the Seahawk. Tony's uncertainty towards the unknown reasons behind this transfer orders sent him straight to the closest studio, the resulting physical pain allowing him to temporarily block the mental as the Powers That Be continued to meddle with his life yet again. So it seemed ironic to Tony that the orders recalling him to DC arrived the day after he'd deemed that his back piece finally felt complete.

After what had seemed an eternity in exile it was more than a little strange to be back in the bullpen, settling his belongings back at his old desk. Unsettling to possess furniture which was not bolted to the floor, to sleep in a bed which no longer rocked him to sleep or dumped him on to a hard metal floor if he rolled just a few inches too far.

Peculiar to have the freedom to go where he wanted, when he wanted, even to choose his own meals from whatever took his fancy right at that moment rather than pick from a very restricted selection of mass produced nutritionally balance repast. Simply to have his every waking moment no longer under totalitarian control of the PTB came as close as to a culture shock as Tony was ever likely to experience.

It took several days for Tony to find a new apartment and settle in his worldly possessions, shaking off the musty smell of the storage facility, and several days longer to finally work his way out of the institutionalised mindset the ridged military environment had tried to instil on the seemingly irrepressible agent.

If Tony found it harder to bounce back than his friends expected, he kept it well hidden, his newly reunited team mates never realising that large open spaces now made him slightly nervous; just a hint of agoraphobia. Whilst the bustle of the busy metropolis with its crowded streets and sidewalks seemed too loud and he found himself struggling to resist the urge to forge a path away from the crowds towards less populated back streets and alleyways; away from the painful wall of noise.

Blocking antisocial behaviour patterns where ruthlessly identified and stamping them out with frighteningly regularity in his first few weeks took a lot of energy to hide. Knowing that if he let them get a hold he'd be vying to take over his boss's status as an official bastard in next to no time, and frankly one of them on the team was bad enough.

Over time the reassuring presence of this adoptive NCIS family helped to mend the damage to his battered psyche, until the incidences of agoraphobia reduced to nary a twitch and crowds no longer resulted in the desire to run away. However, at night his dreams continued to burn as the skin on his back twitched and if anyone had been watching they might have imagined that the ink pulsed and flowed.

Whilst the others had noted Tony's behaviour patterns seemed a little bit off, his mannerisms slightly forced or his smiles too bright, they had for their own reasons chosen to remain silent, not sure how to deal with the subtly changed man they called friend. Leaner, more serious; less carefree and conspicuously quieter, Tony hadn't been quite as effective at hiding as he thought.

Fundamental alterations in the man who was their friend and team mate were dealt with differently by each of those he classed as family; concernedly ignored by Gibbs, flustered and confused McGee, studied and internally dissected by both David and Mallard alike, regretted by Palmer, but acted upon by Scutio; frighten, fearless, brave, unsure Abby.

It was Abby who spoke of it first, the unconscious scratching, the scrapping of neatly manicured nails in a constant, vain, effort to banish the escalating, deep subcutaneous itching. It was she who successfully cornered Tony after catching him scouring his back against the wall just inside the autopsy doors, whilst supposedly listening to Ducky reminiscing whilst Jimmy returned their latest guest to cold storage.

Dragging Tony halfway across the room by his shirt collar she ordered him to strip in front of the startled ME, her fingers already scrabbling to undo the mother of pearl buttons in order to hurry along the removal of his crisp white dress shirt, before she had even finished speaking. Definite red light behaviour had anyone been checking.

Seeing that Abby was not to be dissuaded, Tony reluctantly allowed her to reveal his torso, turning around as directed under Abby's continued insistence, baring the complex tattoo covering almost the entire surface of his back. Extensive though the ink was it failed to hide the swollen ridges extending from his shoulder blades down below the waistband of his trousers.

Alarmed by the heat given off the pulsating tissue, Ducky immediately began to palpitated the engorged flesh, worried about possible infection or blood poisoning. The Doctor jerking back when the ink seemed to move in response, forcing the skin to ripple and stretch obscenely in a stomach clenching motion.

At this Tony unexpectedly cried out, curling forward against the support of his arms where they braced his upper body against the cold autopsy table. Before Ducky could even move forward, Tony cried out again accompanied by an awful wet tearing noise as his skin tore, the ridges forcing the skin to split open, giving way under intense pressure.

Throwing his head back as far as his neck would allow, spine arching even further, Tony's body clearly represented his sheer agony as in blink of an eye massive bloody wings burst free of the ravaged flesh as Tony's body shuddered then expanded, forcing the watching trio to back away as their friend literally transformed before their stunned eyes.

Her fingers pressed to dark painted lips, Abby stood blinking in shock for crouched before, measuring approximately 6 foot from nose to tail, its wings jerking in surprised sweeps, was what could only be described as a royal purple and black two-tone dragon.

Gibbs, having gone in search of his missing agent was drawn with urgent steps towards autopsy, first by a gut feeling and then by DiNozzo's pained shouts and Abby's startled scream. On full alert the team leader charged through the automatic doors, hand reaching for his gun on reflex despite it being safely locked away in his desk drawer; in this instance luck for once being on Tony's side.

Truth to be told Gibbs was more than a little surprised as the dragon's sleek head swung his way and a familiar voice uttered a quiet "Oh crap!" His bellowed, querying "DiNozzo?" caused all present to jump, no more so than the dragon in question; all four of his feet/paws leaving the ground. Unexpectedly changing back mid jump, Tony landed in an undignified heap on the autopsy floor, dignity affronted but at least back in his original form.

The pregnant silence was finally broken by Gibbs' voice forcefully demanding to know, "what the hell just happened?", overlaid with Ducky's soft spoken "Oh my dear boy", but neither stood a chance once Abby's quick-fire brain shifted gear from absolute shock and awe into scientific mode in an effort to circumnavigate the total horror of watching her good friend's back literally be torn open from neck to hips. Denial, as was oft quoted, was not just a river in Egypt, for Abby be thy name.

Abby would undoubtedly break later, most likely in the privacy of her own coffin, but right now she was gearing up for a full speed babble fest, firing questions at the shell shocked Tony at a rapid rate of knots.

"Tony! OhMyGod Tony! Did you see that? Of course you did. What did you do? How did you do that? That wasn't a trick was it? No, you'd never prank me like that, not since what I did to you last time when you…! WHAT ARE YOU? Those wings looked so delicate, all soft and leathery if you ignored the blood. Are they leather? I thought I saw scales, how would scales on wings work? Can you fly? Do you think you can try that now? No, not now, not enough room, you'd go squish into the wall before you got really going. You mustn't do that, do you hear me Tony? No squish ok. Promise me you won't do it Tony. I mean not promise me you won't try and fly, cos you know that would be way cool and all. Just don't try and go flappy, flappy in here, I don't want you to get hurt." Abby paused for a second as her brain caught up with her mouth. "Oh my Tony, did that hurt, it looked like it hurt. Tony, Tony talk to me, _tell_ me you're all right?"

Caught between a seemingly enraged yet worried Gibbs, stoic and distressed Ducky, frozen and totally terrified Jimmy Palmer, and hyper spazzing Abby, Tony's stomach reacted to the hideous memory of tearing and pain, causing him to vomit with considerable force over his naked chest and miraculously intact chinos and over-priced shoes.

At this point his brain finally caught up with the hinkyness and decided now would be a good time to shut down. His vision greying out at the edges was Tony's only warning before he blacked out, collapsing back to the floor with a ragged sign; effectively ending his active participation in events.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: **When I started writing up the draft for this chapter I discovered that I had accidently cut off the previous chapter earlier than I had intended, however it seems to work this way so I'm not going to change anything. This chapter is slightly shorter, mild language warning for one possible phrase.

**Part 3**

When Tony showed no signs of regaining consciousness anytime soon, Ducky took charge of the situation and after assessing his patient, quickly and efficiently marshalled the troops. Drafting Gibbs and Palmer transport the oblivious Tony out the Morgue's private exit and into Gibbs' car.

It showed how deeply Tony was out when he stayed soundly under during the whole ride to the ME's home where he was installed in the ground floor suite formally occupied by the elderly Mrs Mallard. The majority of the bedroom's adaptations remaining in place even though Ducky's mother had recently moved to a care home; Ducky as yet unable to face clearing the rooms, as if to do so would be to admit that he was only waiting on that final heartbreaking phone call.

They had just settled Tony's unconscious form when Abby called with the test results on blood Ducky had drawn from Tony during his initial examination. The exceptionally high level of endorphins were no surprise considering how extremely painful the transformation had appeared; Tony's system flooding with nature's analgesics to counteract the effects of torn skin and rendered muscles.

Tony's electrolytes were seriously depleted along with an almost dangerously low blood sugar level, resulting in a warmed saline drip and glucose delivered via a separate IV shunt. Worryingly he remained unresponsive through out this and a second, more thorough examination, which was probably just as well given his understandable dislike of needles following the weeks of intensive medical intervention which kept him alive after contracting Y-Pestis.

His wounded psyche had responded by linking the long weeks in Bethesda with Kate's sudden, shocking demise so soon after Tony's return to work. And hadn't ducky had something to say about it; Tony's need to take unnecessary risks with his still fragile health by searching the rooftop for evidence in the pouring rain. Tony had been amazingly lucky not have developed even the sniffles or a cold as a direct result of this actions.

It was dark before Tony finally regained consciousness and had used all his bag of evasion techniques to try and avoid talking about the transformation, at first trying to reconcile the experience internally, with an added dose of denial thrown in for good measure. However, Ducky's gentle approach to the situation soon overrode the agent's stubbornness, having honed his skills over many years of friendship against the legendary Gibbs' intractability.

Eventually between the subject himself and the four witnesses to Tony's trans-species jump, they developed a working hypothesis that Tony had seemingly tapped into a whole new realm of Hinkyness, which was somehow directly linked to the ever-changing tattoo on his back.

The first time Tony showed signs of getting agitated without obvious cause and began scratching again, Abby dragged him out of bed at some unholy hour of the morning, bundling him into the first clothes to hand and into her hearse. Driving out of central DC, to the closest, secluded section of parkland, she dumped him in a clearing, ordered him to strip and through sheer force of will restrained herself from reaching out to touch while, moonlit, Tony involuntarily changed species for the second time.

The actual transformation seemed smoother and less traumatic, certainly a whole hell of a lot less painful; Tony barely grunting rather than screaming like before, and more as if in reaction with the shift of muscle and sinew than from rendering flesh.

An hour after dawn Abby took a moment away from monitoring her friend to call Gibbs, letting him know that his senior agent was currently exploring his inner lizard and might _just _be a little late for work. Gibbs answered on the second ring, sounding wide awake despite the early hour and hung up with his usual brisk manner after the Goth had delivered her message. Abby was not surprised in the slightest and was privately amused that she'd won her own bet as to if she may have woken him or not.

Later with the early morning sun warming his glossy black and purple scales, Tony practically glowed as he practiced moving about in his current form, showing his naturally athletic grace despite a some what unsteady start. By lunch time he had progressed from making short hops accompanied by great sweeps of his wings, building up to smooth, low level gliding from one side of the clearing to the other.

Despite Abby's enthusiastic encouragement, he point blank refused to try a more actively powered flight, content to stay low, the scales of his belly barely skimming the top of the long summer grass. Later, tired by the early start after a restless night, coupled with the morning's unusual activities, Tony quickly fell into an exhausted sleep curled into his seatbelt whilst Abby drove them back to the office.

Meeting up with the Boss man in the elevator, evidently returning from a coffee run, Abby appreciated Gibbs' assistance in steering a barely conscious agent Dinozzo to his desk….One super-sized CafPow and three 500 gram bars of rich chocolate later and Tony looked less like the result of a three day bender than he had before the combined caffeine/sugar overdose hit his system.

If McGee and Ziva wondered why Gibbs was allowing Abby to mother Tony, more than a little obsessively some might add; practically forcing her favourite drink on him, they chose to remain silent for now. Exchanging questioning glances when she riffled through his wallet for change for the snack machine, taking note of the strange goings on when she came up short and Gibbs freely offered the money instead.

Thankfully it remained relatively quiet for the rest of the afternoon, because by the time Gibbs finally ordered them out the door Tony could barely move, the muscles of his back and shoulders had stiffened so much that it took him several, failed, attempts to haul himself up from his chair. For once not playing up his physical condition angling for sympathy, and manfully stifling a groan when his backpack thumped uncomfortably against his screaming shoulder blades.


End file.
